At The Bottom Of Everything
by jasperose
Summary: 'Who do you want standing next to you, when all of your dreams come true' - breyton, brucas s4.


_holler. a little Breyton drabbley drabble I scribbled before work today for your reading pleasure! actually, it's more diving into Lucas' head regarding Brooke, and, subsequently, Peyton. I changed the speaker of the quote because I like Rachel, sawry. also, it worked better. _

_I miss the Brooke/Lucas friendship, even if they weren't together-they had amazing chemistry. and when he isn't being ridiculous, Lucas is sweet. _

_the title is a song by Bright Eyes, off his album 'I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning.' oh, conner._

_review?_

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><p><strong>At The Bottom Of Everything.<strong>

Lucas Scott; he was something else. He was her first challenge, her first rejection, her first redemption. He was her first love, but certainly not her first heartbreak. He was the first to hold her heart in his hands. He was the first to see something more. He was the first to dig deep, he was the first to peel back the layers and layers of camouflage to reveal the scared little girl hiding inside. He was the first to stick around. He was the first to make her change, to make her shake off the plastic skin and breathe. He found the beauty she hid away from the world, safe in the confines of her ribcage.

This is how she saw it. It had been Lucas Scott: First, to shape her into the person she was. Without him, she believed she'd still be drunk and sad, looking for affection at the bottom of a glass. But he knows differently. He knows better, it's true.

He knows that he was the second to hold her heart. He knows he was the second to find the little girl lost among the clothes and suggestive smirks. He was the second to stick around, he was the second to make her shake off her plastic skin, the second to make her breathe. He was the second to marvel at the secrets she hid beneath her breast. He knows he was always second to her.

But she doesn't. Or maybe she does. Maybe she's scared and nauseous at the thought. Maybe she likes the way things are, comfortable and known and familiar. Any deviation of the set routine would be too much, too soon, and she can't handle that. She's not stupid, he knows. She's smarter than she ever lets on—part of the plastic skin, he thinks.

There are two completely different sides to Brooke Davis, he has found. One is flirty and dangerous and wild, consequences be damned. Drinks pour constantly and evocative winks catch eyes of willing distractions. She's uncontrollable and sad and unsupervised. But the other side, the side he likes the most, is caring and beautiful and maternal. Her heart is bigger than even she knows, and that dimpled smile is worth more than any gold. And it makes him sad to know that only a few know of this Brooke. Because this Brooke is the Brooke he fought hard to find and even harder to keep. He wishes she'd let them all see.

Being second is something Lucas Scott is familiar with. He was second to the golden son, he was second to Haley when Nathan came around, he was second to Nathan again when Peyton stole his heart. He'd like to think that he could maybe be a first of Brooke's, but he knows she got there first. He doesn't mind, though; how could he, when a simple look from her is all it takes to make her light up? They're connected in ways he can't know. He wishes he could, though.

Lucas Scott was first in one aspect, though. It's not the aspect he longs for, but it's first place nonetheless. And he can't help it; he wants to be first in at least something, when it comes to Brooke Davis.

He _noticed_ it first, he thinks. He noticed the lingering looks and the jealousy and the fierce loyalty. He noticed the small smiles and the shared secrets, and he realised something wonderful (or tragic, if he's being selfish). They're one in the same, paradoxical, opposites complimenting each other beautifully. It's necessary and inevitable, like the rising of the sun or the passing of fall. It's destined, written in stone, told in the stars, all sorts of fate. And he thinks—if he pushes aside his raging feelings of jealousy and ignores his self-serving nature—that it could be beautiful. He thinks it could be the greatest story ever told.

If only they'd let go.

Rachel Gattina, of all people, had asked him a very good question one day. She had dropped her smirk and instead fixed him with a surprisingly sincere stare, bouncing him the basketball as she said, "Who do you want standing next to you, when all of your dreams come true?"

He had smiled, picturing her dark laughing eyes and mischievous grin. He knew exactly who he wanted, who else could it possibly be? She was the part of his world he could never live without. She was next to oxygen and books. She was his heartbeat. Of course he wanted her next to him.

"Brooke. It's her," he had opened his eyes and smiled wonderingly. "I want her."

And for a few glorious months, he had her. He would be forever changed by those seconds minutes hours. He didn't mind.

They're fighting. It makes his stomach twist to know he was the cause of their tension. He didn't want to get in the way of two cosmic bodies as they collided. That would be blasphemy. That would be vicious, a true act of selfishness never before surpassed. So when he sees them pass in the hall with nothing more than a glare, it makes his stomach clench. Inevitable or not, it makes his stomach clench.

He's angry at himself for his inability to say no to Peyton Sawyer. Maybe it's her big hazel eyes and dead mum. Maybe it's her sarcastic drawl. Maybe it's her curls and her music. Maybe it's her ethereal connection to Brooke Davis.

She's sitting alone, he notices. He's not sure why; it wasn't her fault he ruined everything, why should she be alone? But she is, and he watches her as she picks at her salad and frowns into the lettuce. Peyton is at his table, doing the same into her pb and j sandwich. He wants to smile at the matching expressions but he doesn't.

It's been weeks and weeks since they were attached at the hip by some force designed by fate. She looks sad and she tries to hide it. Peyton looks sad and he knows she's never tried to downplay her grief. He thinks it's a crying shame that she has learned to hide her vulnerable emotions from everyone. He thinks he likes to see her look like the rest of them, hurt and scared and lonely. It's nice to know she's real, and not some figment he's created.

She prods a leaf with her fork before tossing it on the table and pushing the salad away. Pressing her fingers into her eyes, he knows she's watching the stars that shoot across her eyelids. She once told him it helps her to keep from crying, because how can you cry while seeing something so pretty? He had smiled a small, wondering smile and kissed her. She had laughed into his mouth and he hoped it would stay there forever, a tiny memory of the girl he loved.

Peyton sighs and drops her sandwich, a line between her brows. He glances at her before looking back to Brooke, and he decides it's time to take action. There's only so much a guy can take, he reasons, and she deserves to smile again. He pushes away from the table and gives Peyton a mumbled clarification. She nods and watches him as he makes his hesitant way toward Brooke Davis.

She doesn't look at him. She's still watching the stars, and he smiles at the thought. He decides he'll sit until she sees him, and takes a seat across from her. He props his chin on his palm. She shifts and sighs, rubbing her eyebrow and twirling her pinky ring.

"Hi, Brooke," he says. She jerks her eyes open and looks at him. He's startled her and he knows it, but she pretends he hasn't.

"Hi, Lucas," she returns. Her face is impressively aloof. It makes him sad, because there was a time when she wouldn't hide from him.

He doesn't say anything and she begins to get uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat and presses her knees together. She scratches her nose.

Finally, she can't take it. Her impatience is renowned. "Was there something you wanted?" she asks him. He blinks and realises he was lost in a daydream.

Shaking his head, he begins his reparation of the fractured inevitability. "I actually have a question for you. It's a really important question, so I need you to really think about the answer, okay?"

She furrows her brow and pouts her lips. "Lucas, what—"

"Just…answer honestly, Brooke."

He waits for her nod. "Alright," she relents, shaking her fringe from her dark eyes.

"Alright," he repeats. Leaning on his forearms, Lucas meets her curious and guarded gaze steadily. "Remember, be honest," he reminds her, before, "When all of your dreams come true, who is it that you want standing next to you?"

She blinks slowly, confused by his intensity. "What?"

"Just be honest, Brooke. Who's next to you? You just got a fashion award for being the best in the whole world. Who's next to you?"

She smiles at his attempt before realising what she's doing. Trying to hide her grin, she shakes her head and says, "Lucas, I really don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I just want you to answer truthfully, Brooke. Please?" He adds. He knows he doesn't really have a right to, but he needs to know he was right. He needs to have that first, and he needs this imminent plot of fate to come to fruition.

She studies him, her dark eyes tracing his features. There's something there, he notices, something he might've missed if he wasn't looking for it. She looks scared; she looks nervous and scared. But also, maybe even a little hopeful. "Why?" Of course, she needs to know. She's always been a little wary around him and his personal questions. Another part of her plastic skin, he thinks.

"Because," he tells her, leaning closer, "I'm tired of waiting."

Her lips purse and she crosses her arms over her chest. He thinks she might just not answer at all, he thinks she might shut down and waive him off. But she blows her fringe and sighs. "It seems to me you already know the answer to that, Lucas," she says quietly.

"I need you to say it, Brooke. If not for your own sake, than at least for my peace of mind. Although," he continues, "I know I don't deserve it."

She watches him as he speaks, calculating. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she sees Peyton watching them. Peyton meets her eyes and doesn't look away. He notices this, and he thinks he can feel the heat from their gaze. It emanates from an unknown source, a hidden sun. A lightening strike.

"When all of my dreams come true," she begins softly, her eyes still on Peyton, "when everything I could ever want is in the palm of my hands, when I get what I've been wanting all along, I would want my best friend beside me."

It seems heavy, her admittance. It seems weighted and fierce and full of insecurities. He nods slowly and dares to reach for her hand. It's cold and small in his, but she doesn't pull away.

"It's always been her," he says, "hasn't it?"

Brooke closes her eyes. The heat disperses, but he can feel the echo. It lingers, clings to her. "Yes," she whispers, and a tear falls. It sparkles in the weak sunlight.

He catches it on his thumb and smiles. "Who's to say you can't have it?" he asks her. She looks up and tilts her head. His eyes glint as he leans heavier on his forearms. "You're Brooke Davis."

She glances over to Peyton again. The heat is back, friction and sparks. "I am," she agrees, nodding slowly. Peyton looks questioningly at her and Brooke offers a small smile. Peyton's shoulders lift as she grins back. The whole world resumes its spinning.

"Wanna know something?" he grins boyishly at her and she nods. "I'm rooting for you two crazy kids."

A shy smile graces her lips, her eyes crinkling at his chuckle. "Thanks, Lucas," she says.

He shrugs and squeezes her hand. "I just wish it could've been me," he admits softly, looking down. Her hand gently grasps his and he smiles again. "But," he continues, glancing over at Peyton, "who am I to get in the way, huh?"

She's silent, but she hasn't let go of his hand. He thinks it's because she doesn't want to be alone. He watches her as she watches Peyton, a frown tugging at her lips. Peyton still keeps her gaze. He dodges the sparks.

"I'm scared," she tells him. Her voice is a raspy whisper. The vulnerability and fear tugs at his chest.

"She is too, I bet."

Brooke shakes her head. "No way. Peyton's better than that. She's better than me." Her eyes are still locked onto Peyton, a staring contest, a silent dare. A frightened girl from a small town, a reaching hand. "She's not afraid of anything. She doesn't care what people think. She's better than I am," head down, defeated.

Lucas shakes his head vigorously. "You don't really believe that, do you?" Brooke doesn't look at him. "Brooke, you have to know, you're one of the strongest people I know."

She shakes her head and blinks hard. "Do you think she knows?" She doesn't acknowledge his vehement proclamation.

Lucas follows her gaze. Peyton still hasn't looked away. There's a life in her eyes he hasn't seen in months. She's rejuvenated, just from a look, and he's amazed. "I think she feels it, too," he says softly. Brooke swallows heavily and shakes her head disbelievingly. "Go talk to her, Brooke. She misses you like you miss her."

Finally looking away from Peyton, Brooke meets his eyes. She looks scared, and all he can give her is a reassuring smile. She takes a deep breath and stands, smoothing her hair down and trying to calm her heart.

"Okay," she says. Before she leaves, she pulls him tight against her and whispers in his ear, "Thank you, Lucas. I missed you." His heart thumps at the proximity and he hugs her back.

"Missed you too, Cheery," he whispers into her hair. Pulling away, he nudges her in Peyton's direction. "Now get outta here, Davis."

Her dimples make him smile. "Wish me luck," she says, a nervous smile on her lips. He nods and watches as she walks over to Peyton's table. There's a hesitance in her walk that's out of character for her. Her plastic skin is breaking off.

He watches as she sits down next to Peyton and pulls her into a hug. Peyton wraps her long arms around her and buries her face into the crook of Brooke's neck. He watches as they remain intertwined for endless moments, ignoring the eyes of the other students.

And he watches as, before his very eyes, the two speeding cosmic bodies collide in a burst of flame.

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><p><em>what did you think, team?<em>

_I know there wasn't a whole lot (if any) Breyton loving. I suppose it's more a Lucas/Brooke, huh. oh well?_

_love me love me love me!_


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